The Scottish Decision
by fluentinfranglais
Summary: The results of the Scottish vote for Independence will be in in a few hours, but what could it mean for Hogwarts, and what does Minerva think?


**Anything recognisable does not belong to me. I hope you like it.**

Minerva leant back in her chair. The first few weeks back were always stressful. Everyone had a problem, everyone thought that their problem was more urgent than everyone else's, and everyone wanted the headmistress to deal with the problem in person. In the past few weeks she had spoken to house elves wanting menu planning advice, teachers needing guidance on how to apply the discipline system (honestly, why they couldn't decide for themselves what punishments were sufficient, she could never fathom), and many more problems. Her favourite tasks though involved communing with Hogwarts. Together they had to make sure there would be enough space for the students in the dormitories and ensure that the right classrooms would be in the right places, but somehow their conversations struggled to stay on topic. Hogwarts had seen so much that the here and now seemed fleeting and unimportant. She would tell stories of Goblin rebellions and founding fights, wars in both the magical and non-magical world… Minerva loved to hear her talk, to learn stories that history had long forgotten. It was fascinating.

Today however, she had had no such luck. Rather than speaking with Hogwarts, she had been forced to speak to Sybil, and the experience had, as ever, been especially trying. She had once again predicted the death of a student. There was nothing new there, but this time it seemed, she might be right. Pete was a quiet boy. In the three years since he had arrived he had made very few friends, none of whom could really be considered close friends. It was really quite unusual for a Hufflepuff and Amal had often spoken to her about his concern on the subject. Unfortunately however, other than asking his prefects to look out for the boy, he had been unable to do much. As a result Pete had managed to step into the Divination classroom blissfully unaware of Sybil's penchant for the theatrical and her high rate of death prediction. And so when her quivering finger had come to rest on him, the poor child had suddenly burst into floods of tears and had run from the room. Eventually the boy had been found, and finally an explanation was given. Apparently in the muggle world he had been diagnosed with cancer. He had spent his entire Hogwarts career waiting for the day when he would suddenly take a turn for the worse, and then die. All of a sudden, a lot of things had started to make sense: his self-alienation, lack of concern for the future when choosing his electives, and most other aspects of his personality. He was terrified. Of course, the situation was not what it would have been in the muggle world. The highly magical environment at Hogwarts had helped improve his healing and it was this that had kept him alive for so long. Minerva had spent the last few days liaising with healers, St Mungo's administration and the boy's mother who, as a doctor, was somewhat sceptical of the skills of the magical medical community. Having finally dealt with the urgent matters surrounding the boy's health she had therefore been left with the unenviable task of trying to discipline Sybil. As ever, she had been vague, certain of her 'gift', and very unreceptive to reason; trying to get her to accept that informing a child of their imminent doom could be psychologically harmful to them was a huge uphill struggle. One made all the more difficult by Sybil's insistence that as the child would die in the next month or so, it wasn't as though she had done any lasting damage.

The whole experience had left Minerva with a terrible headache. She was happy to finally have some time to herself in her office to relax with her embroidery and finally unwind. The repetitiveness of the task was very therapeutic. She watched the needle as she threaded it in and out. The phoenix design was just beginning to take shape on the fabric. When she finished she mused, she might place a few charms on the work. If she could make the feathers shine and shift as on a real bird, it would be very beautiful.

A whoosh from a corner of the room caught her attention. Minerva looked up startled, it had almost sounded like a combustion spell. Glaring round her office, she located the source of the noise. One of the bookshelves which used to contain rolls upon rolls of scrolls seemed to have lost two thirds of its contents. The crisped fragments that remained floating gently to the floor to form a light dusting of ash at the foot of the shelves. At first she didn't understand. Then slowly it dawned on her. She had received a letter from a cousin shortly before the start of term. Amongst other things it had spoken of a vote: Independence for Scotland. Minerva hadn't stopped to think what the consequences could be for Hogwarts, nestled in the Scottish highlands. It would seem the votes were in, and even Hogwarts wouldn't be spared from the political fallout.

Minerva's head sank into her hands. She was getting too old for this. She didn't have the energy to involve herself in government muggle or non-muggle, and she certainly didn't have the energy to face the pureblood parents whose children's acceptance letters had just gone up in smoke. Perhaps it was time to retire.


End file.
